Three swallows and I’m done. It’s way too late to be up at 10:00am. As I look around me, I notice some semblance of order and the chaos. Three (four) canvas present me, five notarized, scattered across the heavy wooden desk someone remembered they didn’t own. A window to the mind; entirely feminine, attuned, and whole. Through my window, the world is alive. My father walks me through the gardens. A story learned to kiss the edges raw and insecure. Even now my hand departs, the sleepless equinox of chase: Picasso in his nineties, Matisse in his eighties. Tripoli in his twenties. 

"Red Herring"

Lord, thank you for all you’ve given. The wonder. The glory. All I could want is to worship, in sight, in heart, in all that I do. To worship at your feet, to rest in your eyes. I falter, disobey, and stray from the quickened path (pressed acceleration). How can I approach You with words? How can I gaze upon Your face? The words dissolve. The heart cannot bear it. I am crushed (crushing) by Your beauty, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and breathless. What is the trick of pity worth? I have long punished myself under self-imposed law, otherly law, sublimity law, for what? A distance from You I wrap around my eyes? Lord, unveil! The yolk’s upon the screen, the gossamer wings of the Taxiarch, the eternal Macrophage, (Justice!) but a glimpse of nature, naked, unfurling, enfolding; Mother, Lover, Father, I throw myself at your feet! I felt each future step and word a prayer and answer wholly. Grace and mercy, will be done, equanimity complete. Amen.  

"The Chase"

You don’t know me. And I don’t know you. But you know, I know, I love you, and you’re beautiful to me. Even when you’re ugly. Even when you’re mean.  I had a dream, and there was a child, and there you were, and everything was right.

"The Chase" Tripoli, 2016, pastel, pencil on paper. 


The sky is blue, so are you

Done with feeling sad?

Come over here

We’ll disappear

Like magic and thin air

You’re really free

Like magic and thin air

Come over here

We’ll disappear

The water’s fine, so is mine

Done with feeling sad?

"Sunbathing" Tripoli, 2016, ink, pencil on paper.

Lion's Den

"Lion's Den" Tripoli, 2015, ink, pencil on paper.


The eagle watched

Above the shadow;

Past became present and

Slaughtered a cow:


"Undress these virgins!

They’re not what they seem

(If you know what I mean)


Off to the shooting games!

Look at the right go!

Pass that pine cone!

I read like a book but

That shot was illegible

Just look at it now!

Milk’s in the water

Heat drops in the channel

No song with crickets

I’m not that pineapple

I’m punk and impurity

‘Yond bondage of freedom

Union in disunion



Made fortunes;

-Grief and greed-

So here I am


The Farnese Bull

I see ripples at the surface.

The colossus swelling in the deep.

What can restrain him? What can contain him?

Nothing but the Father and the Man.

"The Farnese Bull" Tripoli, 2015, pencil on paper. 

"The Ark"

The city is flooding, and so I clamber upward, protecting wraps of foil. Hidden in aluminum, Christ himself, a rescue boat searching. The water recedes, reveals mystical scrolls, ancient drawings, my mother smiling. The egg and the skull are one.